


The Waiting Part

by lostinwriting23



Category: Nikita (TV 2010)
Genre: After 2x01, Gen, Like, becasue we all know Nikita definitely wasn't okay after having to hurt Alex, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 21:36:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5717947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinwriting23/pseuds/lostinwriting23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The memory of Alex writhing in pain on the grimy floor of the alley, uninjured arm caught between cradling her broken wrist and curling around her bloodied thigh, screaming, knocked the breath out of her again and she ratcheted an arm around her middle, praying that it would hold her up as everything else crumbled."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Waiting Part

**Author's Note:**

> So I definitely am still shifting things from FF.net to here and this is one that got left behind a little bit. A little older and from a show not many people watched sadly but it still makes me happy. Let me know what you think and I hope you like it and are having a kick ass week:)  
> Thanks,  
> M  
> For starters, I do not own Nikita or any of the characters from Nikita. I'm just writing for fun, clean and simple.

She barely kept it together long enough to reach the shower. Justin had been placed in a different safe house and Michael and Birkhoff were going over the press release for Captain Merrick's tale of heroism. She'd snuck away amidst their planning and claimed Birkhoff's master bathroom for herself. As soon as the latch clicked shut behind her, all bets were off. A sob tore itself raggedly through her chest, sending a barely-registered flash of pain from her ribs through Nikita's mind. Alex had gotten a few good hits in before- 

Her hand clamped over her mouth as another sob worked its way up her throat. She stumbled her way out of her shirts, throwing it and her bra out of sight. The shining chrome of the shower's attachments led her to the tub, blinded by tears and she cranked the hot water up the whole way. The room was instantly filled with steam.

The leggings took several moments to peel off. They were damp in places from puddles she'd run through and, in one spot, something sticky and red. Alex. Nikita retched, flinging the offending clothing as far from her as possible before dragging herself into the tub and under scorching water. 

The last few weeks had been trying to say the least but this... this was the final straw. She knew Alex had... left her, knew she was on her own mission of revenge, but this. Working with Division? It was too much and what she'd had to do ... it was inexcusable. This, losing Alex, the hole in her heart. This was what she deserved, no matter what Michael said. He had a skewed view of her, he was biased. If he knew.

She shuddered and curled in on herself, ignoring the new bumps, scrapes and bruises that tried to stiffen her body as she leaned back against the cold tile wall. The sound of Alex's screams echoed in her ear, a hundred times louder than they had been in the alley way and on a constant loop. It was a sound of betrayal and desperation and pain and loss.

Another sob worked its way out, choked and silenced by the steam and steady stream of water. Suddenly, she felt dirty, more tainted and horrendous than she had since before she'd left Division. Grabbing a loofah hanging by the faucet and a bar of soap from the top shelf she started to scrub in earnest. First her legs, where Alex's blood had spattered and soaked into the skin of her calf. After a couple steady minutes' hard scrubbing the skin was raw and red but it still felt unclean. 

Gasping and rising back into the fiery stream of water, she lathered up the loofah again and was about to return to her calf when a blooming purple bruise on her right forearm diverted her and promptly became the newest object of her fixation. Even though there was nothing to erase, no possible way she could ever even remedy the blemish, she scrubbed and scrubbed until the water was running almost pink down her arm. The arm that had broken Alex's, the hand that had pulled the trigger, the body that would feel the loss and get what it deserved. 

A knock on the door surprised the loofah out of Nikita's hand and she fell back against the tile wall. 

"Really, Nikki, there are like three other bathrooms in this house and you hijack mine?" Birkhoff's annoyed voice rang through the bathroom, even separated by the door.

"Knew you kept the best one for yourself, Nerd. Water pressure's great." Her bravado fell painfully short, voice cracking on the last couple of words. Fuck.

And of course, he noticed, "You okay in there?"

"I'm fine, Birkhoff, just..." She had to take a moment compose herself, then, "I'll be out in a minute." Just a minute more. She just needed one singular minute to compose herself, compartmentalize, put Alex in that special hidden box where everything else that broke her heart went and then she'd be-

The memory of Alex writhing in pain on the grimy floor of the alley, uninjured arm caught between cradling her broken wrist and curling around her bloodied thigh, screaming, knocked the breath out of her again and she ratcheted an arm around her middle, praying that it would hold her up as everything else crumbled. Little Alexandra Udinov, the girl she'd sworn to protect, twice lost, now to a deeper darkness than ever. She'd promised to keep her safe, to get her out, help her avenge her family. And now-

"Kita?" Shit. Michael.

"Yeah, I'll.. I'll be out in a second Michael."

"Nikita, what happened?" She heard a thud and assumed he'd leaned against the door of the bathroom.

"Nothing, just, needed a shower. I'm fine. I'll just be-" but the steam and the images of Alex were choking her off and every breath was sharp, painful.

The curtain was jerked back and Michael was there, clad in his jeans and fitted dark shirt. She spun from him, trying to mask her tears, the shallow scrapes on her arm from where she'd scrubbed too hard. He had none of it.

"Nikita," he whispered, trailing a finger along her shoulder, gently tracing over the bruises to her ribs until she reined herself in enough to turn an face him, "What happened?"

Her chin dropped to her chest, shaking strings of sopping hair into her face, "Michael..."

His hand stretched into her view toward the faucet, "Let's get you out of here, the water is scalding." 

He was slow and gentle, coaxing and commanding in the way that only Michael could be. Shutting off the water and prying her fingers from around the loofah. A towel around her shoulders, an obvious screen against Birkhoff when they got back to the ground floor and to the room they'd claimed. 

When the door was fully shut, Michael guided her over to the bed, settling her down on it while he found something for her to wear. When he'd returned, leggings and a big, soft tank top, she'd crawled up to the head of the bed knees under her chin, towel wrapped around her body.

"Thank you," she whispered, taking the clothing from Michael and unfurling herself enough to pull them both on. 

He nudged her forward far enough in the bed to slip down behind her, placing her in the V of his legs and combing his fingers through her hair. She leaned back into his chest, forehead pressing to the curve where his neck met his shoulder and closed her eyes, trying to erase every image of Alex's eyes, full of anger and betrayal and a little bit of sadness, the splotches of pink on her cheeks as she'd gotten worked up and finally attacked, the twist and writhe of her skinny torso, as if physically trying to expel the pain.

"Kita." Michael whispered, brushing a calloused hand over her cheeks. When had she started crying again?

"Just tell me what happened." His forehead dropped to hers, arms winding their way around her body, pulling her more tightly against his chest and for the first time since the alley way, she could breathe.

"Alex. She was there and we fought in the alley and..." She didn't think she could confess this newest sin because saying it out loud, that would make it real. It would be real and out for the universe to hear.

"And?" Michael murmured, gruff voice even more rough than usual. It hurt him to see her like this. If he could just find out-

"I broke her wrist. And I shot her in the leg. And I. Left her there." Her lips pressed into a flat line as she tried to stop her voice from shaking, "I left her there in a dirty alley, Michael. I don't even know if she's safe now. I..."

"Kita." His lips pressed to her temple, bundled her up against his chest to combat the shudders that were now shaking her to the core, "She made her decision, she knows what she's getting into. You can't take responsibility for-"

"No, Michael, I meant what I said at the motel. I will be responsible for her for the rest of my life. This is all my fault. I kept things from her and-"

"You did what you thought was best."

"For me or for her?" Nikita forced herself away from Michael's comforts, "Confused as she maybe in some areas, she said some other thing that were spot on. I didn't think that she could handle that the truth, so I lied to her about who killed her father."

"But you didn't. Nikita, back then, you were Division. You were operating of survival instincts, follow order or be canceled. Alex is lucky you disobeyed for her. And Nikolai had a gun. He would have shot you, no problem. No," He caught Nikita's chin as she went to shake her head, "Listen to me. I'm not saying that there were something you should have kept all this from her, you could have told Alex some things, but who knows if it would have made a difference? She's confused, Amanda's got her all turned around, she's hearing things from all sides, has no one she thinks she can trust, so she's going with the organization she thinks can get her what she wants most efficiently. She's lost. But she'll find her way back home. Okay?"

Nikita finally looked up to catch his eye, as hers began to fill with tears once more, "Michael, I know but... I shot her. How will she ever forgive me for that?"

"In a non-essential body part." Michael scoffed, leaning back into the headboard, pulling her with him, "And as I remember it, you've shot me several times. Doesn't seem to be holding us back any."

Nikita laughed wetly against his neck, stroking spindly fingers down the side of his jaw before settling over his heart, clenching in the material of his shirt there, "Like an I love you. Shooting in a non-essential body part."

"Man, you must love me a lot then." Michael smirked, kissing the top of her head and laughing as she whacked his shoulder.

"Yeah, keep talking and we'll see how much more 'love' you get."

They were quiet for a moment. There was a whoop from the living room as Birkhoff completed some new Shadow-Walker esque heist and began berating his quarry's so-called defenses. It was almost like old times.

"You know she'll come around, babe. She knows you care for her." 

"I know," Nikita leaned up and kissed Michael lightly, "The waiting part is just going to suck."

"I know."


End file.
